I'm tired. My legs ache, my shoulders burn. I need a reprieve.
I can smell salt air on the breeze, I know the ocean is near. I grab my packs, laden with survival gear, and make for the coast.
On the water's edge, I ease the pack from my screaming shoulders and drop it into the sand beside me. Same for my cargo vest and shirt. Next come the boots and the socks. In just my trousers, I wade out into the cool sea to relieve the aches all over my body.
The water laps around my battered and bruised body. The clear blue of the ocean is muddied by the filth and blood caked on my arms and face. I scrub what I can off of my body, coping with the biting pain from the salty water, thankful for the antiseptic properties of it.
I look to the stars and see the moon, and I wonder, can this blood ever really be washed away?